Fear of the Drowned
by HarleyHart
Summary: He watches her. He sees her. Through the monitor he views her, through the monitor he stalks her. His newest victim to be toyed with, to be tortured and haunted. To be drowned.


He knew a lot about her.

Thalia Lecher, age eighteen. Five foot two, lives with her parents (if you could call seeing her parents twice, maybe three times a week living with them), only child, perpetually single. An avid gamer with a fondness of Razer products, a lover of animal crackers, a vegetarian, and a purveyor of neko themed hentai.

He has watched her through the monitor for about two months now. And during these two months he has seen her in many states, physically and emotionally.

She was an absolute wreck when her pet dwarf bunny died; mascara and eyeliner had flooded down her cheeks enough so that she reminded him of his housemate. Her emerald eyes had looked so very stunning all red and shining with tears. She didn't leave her bed for two days, little whimpers and sniffles the only noises coming from her. Her lips had trembled in such a delicious way.

She was so amusing when drunk, bottles of cheap pink moscato snuck up to her room and stashed underneath a loose floorboard. She would stay up all night reading fanfiction and browsing the web, giggling and shrieking and blushing with no makeup on and pajamas in the form of a hoody three sizes too big. She always fell asleep curled into a little ball on a nest of blankets on the floor, her small panty covered rump sticking out and a rabbit stuffed animal hugged tight to her chest. She looked so innocent and sweet until she would wake up and ritually cursed herself, one hand clutching her head and the other shielding her eyes from the sunlight.

She was mesmerizing when taken over by lust, her pale hands running up her slender thighs, little gasps and moans growing louder and higher pitched as she worked herself over. She trembled and she whimpered and she shook until she was a gasping mess, body flushed and eyes fluttering close in a swoon.

She was destructive when angered, throwing her possesions and crying and screaming until she collapsed on the floor and curled up into a sobbing ball, her throat hoarse and slender body shaking. She would lay there in her broken possesions; shards of glass, books with broken spines, stuffed animals, cans spilled, feathers torn from her pillows and blankets. She would lay for hours until torn from her state by a call from her parents or a ping from her computer.

Yes, he had seen her many ways. Half dressed, fully so, donned in elegant attire, sloppy in worn out outfits. He had seen her with makeup and without, turned into a swamp monster with face masks, eerie with only her makeup half done up.

He had seen her gorge herself on cookies and then starve herself for days. He had seen her singing and dancing, hips moving like a goddess in intoxicating figure eights. He had seen her languid in bed, reading book after book after book until she fell asleep in awkward positions that caused her bones to ache. He had seen her sick and frail, too weak to get out of bed but forcing herslf to do it anyway, a work uniform donned and medicine taken. He had seen her sit curled up in her computer chair for hours upon hours, tapping away at the keyboard, lips twitching into a smile and little peals of laughter let out. He had seen her sit in a daze, staring out of her window and not moving, her eyes glazed over in a trance. He had seen her sit with her hands in her lap, back straight, head held high, and eyes trained on the wall with a blank expression as she was scolded and lectured by her parents- something that occured every day that they were home.

He saw her many ways and he nearly always saw her alone.

But his most favorite way of viewing her was whenever she would sit on her bedroom floor, perched on an old pillow with back leaned against the frame of her bed and legs lightly crossed, half dressed in a shirt and panties, light pink dyed hair up in a bun or in braids, and a look of pure concentration on her face as her small hands fumbled with a controller.

When he saw her in pouting annoyance and sadness, mourning her finally worn out Majora's Mask cartridge, he decided that it was time to give her a gift.


End file.
